The Twilight Thief: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Thrones of Midgard Book 1)

by J. Levi

  Another creature crawls from the mirror and then another after that. There are dozens of them, and more keep appearing. I’d say the beasts crawled straight from Eridh’s hellish realm, but I know the truth. These beasts were once citizens of the capital—innocent people, oblivious to the sadistically evil plots of their monarchy.

  The queen waves her hand, and half of the pack swarms the church floor, savagely tearing into the audience. I don’t have the luxury of watching the carnage because the queen then points her finger towards me, her sinister smile plasters across her ruby lips. The rest of the beastly hounds run for the cathedral columns, digging their talons into the marble and then they start to climb.

  My heart is pounding in my throat, but I swallow it down and move. I have my escape planned, the multi-faceted windowpane already opened behind me. I fly through the opening, cascading down onto the shingled roof below. My momentum is too fast. I dig my heels into the clay tiles, but I don’t slow. Quickly, I draw a select arrow and nock it on my bowstring. I pull, aim, and then release within a heartbeat. The arrow flies across the sky, pulling a long sash of rope in its trail—the arrow snags into the concrete masonry of the cathedral clock tower above.

  I wrap the remaining slack of rope around my forearm as I slip from the angled roof and fall through open air. The rope tugs tight, wrenching around the flesh of my arm. I swing around the tower, my hood whipping from my face. I twist my body as I draw close to the stone structure and embrace for impact.

  My shoulder screams in pain as the air is stolen from my lungs. I hang here, a story high from the bricked ground below. Loud shatters of glass rain above as the hounds chasing me burst through the windows. I release my grip on the rope, falling to the ground. My knees buckle, and my body contorts at the harsh jounce. Before I can survey the full extent of my pain, I’m already running. I hear blood-curdling cries wail within the church—loud and vicious snarls merging with the pleas for mercy.

  I fly down the cathedral stairs, skipping several steps at a time. The streets of the ivory borough are empty. No doubt most of the residents are trapped inside the cathedral.

  I consider my options. I can flee into the city, seeking shelter, but I’ll be bringing death in my wake to the citizens down below if I descend the royal quarter. With only one other choice left, I turn towards the gatehouse, which leads down to the outer gardens that hug the coastline. I pass the first gate and draw another arrow, releasing it and piercing the lever which hoists the postern, engaging the gate locking mechanism, forcing it loose. The iron gate falls as the crank spins and chains clash. I dive forward, rolling over my shoulder and slipping under the gate. The metal spikes snag my hood and rip the gossamer from my shoulders.

  The path down to the gardens weaves like a snake that slithers through the grass. Sinister howls from behind send shivers down my spine. My veins feel ice cold, and my limbs are numb from adrenaline. I sprint into the garden house. A gardener is tending to the exotic shrubs with shears in hand.

  “Hide. Now!” I scream without stopping. I pray they listen.

  Through the backdoors, I flee into another courtyard with a fountain in a part of the gardens I’ve never been. If I weren’t running for my life, I might even consider it peaceful.

  From behind, I hear a shrill cry from the gardener that’s cut off with a gurgle. I bite back a curse and push harder.

  I peer over my shoulder to see a hound, only a few arm lengths from me, snapping at my heels. I release another arrow while turning. My movements are effortless—almost artistic. My arrow flies true and plunges into the grotesque eye of the beast. It stutters to the ground and tumbles. I don’t watch long enough to see if it gets back up.

  I dive into a doorway on the side of the garden’s curtain wall, climb the stairs, and burst through a wooden door at the top. I run along the battlements. My feet scream for relief, but my pounding heart begs me to keep going. The wall stretches around the entire perimeter of the borough, miles of stone.

  Another snarl from behind. I flow through the rythme, releasing another arrow—a true shot as another hellish hound tumbles to the ground. I’d feel like celebrating if it weren’t for the dozen beasts still climbing onto the wall. Their paws leave putrid ichor where they step.

  A horn bellows in the distance. An alert from the guards signaling a threat. Were they warning about the hellish beasts? Or has the queen managed to dispatch them after me?

  Something slams into me from the side. The sleeve of my blouse is shredded to pieces. The pauldrons on my shoulder have needle-like fangs protruding from the raven steel. If it weren’t for the pauldrons, I’d be missing a shoulder right now.

  I roll to the side, unsheathing a dagger and hurling with an underhand whip. The blade sinks into the beast’s skull, directly between its soulless eyes. I don’t bother retrieving my dagger. I’m back on my feet, sprinting along the wall.

  I know I can’t keep this up. My body is aching and tipping into the reaches of total exhaustion. There are too many of them and not enough of me. I had my escape planned, but I didn’t anticipate devilish creatures being summoned from a fucking damned mirror. I have one last ace up my sleeve—my magic. I can use it, but it won’t last, not for long. I bite the inside of my cheek and growl in frustration.

  I leap from between the cremations of the wall and roll along the ground as I land. I dig deep within and summon as much magic—more magic than I’ve ever tried to invoke before. I create a perfect image of myself, an illusion. I puppeteer it to run down an open corridor that leads back into a gatehouse. I summon more magic and coax it to cover my skin, rendering me invisible as my body throbs and itches at the hold of power.

  The beasts funnel through the corridor, chasing my false image while I slip into a drum tower. There are no stairs, only a wooden ladder that leads to the hatch. I climb, not daring to look back. When I breach the hatch opening, I slam the wooden door closed and crouch to the ground. I pause for a moment, pacing my breaths and willing my heart to slow. I notice my body is visible, my magic already worn out. The illusion of myself is gone by, which means the hounds will be doubling back. If the nasty things can scent, then they’ll find me here soon after. I have to think. I need to find a way out.

  My original escape plan involved slipping into the keep and weaving through the sewer tunnels like I usually did when I needed to smuggle myself from the castle walls. That route is impossible from where I’m at. I’d never make it with so many of them.

  I crawl to the edge of the crenellations and look out at sea and then at the sea cliffs far below. Some jagged rocks piercing the rough waves. It’s low tide.

  A grave howl from behind vibrates across my skin. They found me.

  I pull my bow over my head, bracing the string against my chest as the wood limbs fit snuggly against my back. I leap between the merlons with my arms stretch wide and my ankles pressed tight. For a moment, I feel like I’m flying against the ocean breeze like the summer seagulls, and then I’m falling into a dive. I close my eyes so I can’t see the jagged rocks below. I know it’s a risk. I know I’ll probably die. What is death, if not rest? My entire life, I’ve been struggling. The pain, the strife, and the blood. Would it be terrible for that to end? What awaits me in the great beyond? Would I be reincarnated by Thela’s tears or be damned to suffer in Eridh’s hell?

  It’s not until the frigid kiss of salty water washing over me that I realize I’ve reached the ocean waves. It swallows me whole, stealing my warmth and breath. I dive deeper into the water, eyes still clenched. My body slams against a serrated peek beneath the surface, tearing into the flesh of my thigh. I wince and air bubbles burst from my mouth. The cold blankets my pain, numbing instantly. At first, it’s like pins and needles encasing my skin.

  A muffled crash from above—or is it below me? I’ve lost my sense of orientation in the depths. I open my eyes and immediately regret it. The salty brine stings my eyes. I shut them, but the damage is done—an int
ense and searing pain flares from my ankle. I can’t see anything, but I already know what it is. I pull a dagger from my belt and thrust it downward over and over and over again. The jaws of the hound don’t release, but its pressure gives up slightly. I let go of the dagger, letting it sink.

  With numb hands, I reach down and curl my fingers around its teeth. I know teeth sink into my fingers, but the cold still numbs my pain. I pry the jaw from my ankle and then kick the dead beast away. My lungs beg and plead for a breath of fresh air. My body threatens to swallow the sea instead. I kick, swing, and swim for the surface. I’m not even sure if I’m moving or if I’m just squirming in place, awaiting my impending death.

  Warm sunlight embraces my hands and face as I emerge. A deep, loud gasp of desperation as my lungs fill with fresh air. My eyes feel frozen shut and the muscles in my body are stiff. I lean back and allow myself to float. Soaking the warmth the sun provides and chases away the coldness of the water. After a few heartbeats, I finally open my eyes. My vision is fuzzy as I peer up at the cloudless sky. I hear faint snarls and growls over the ocean waves that rock me. I look up the cliff and castle wall to see dozens of beasts staring down at me.

  A chuckle starts low in my gut until it rises into my chest and out of my throat. My faint chuckles evolve into a boisterous cackle. If someone were to see me here, floating in the ocean injured with vicious beasts yearning for my blood, they would think me crazy. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe insanity is necessary.

  “Fuck you!” I scream at the hounds until my voice breaks.

  I pull the sash from my waist and tie it tight around my ankle to slow the bleeding. I casually backstroke away from the cliffside, hungry for as much distance as possible. The marina is a few miles around the coast. If I pace myself, I can make it there.

  26

  Merida

  “…Th’luer O’kina, or in the common tongue, Riverpeak. The legends are well known within the archeology community. I have a collegue within the kingdom of Edonia, though our communication has become scarce as the tension between Edonia and Orgard continue to grow. Lythenians have been long gone for nearly a century, though in my journeys I came across a woman in a small village in the Oaken forest. Her beauty was uncomparable. Red hair more vibrant than the rising sun. She had a small boy with her, though he looked human. The woman was of fae lineage that I do not recognize. Perhaps she was a mistling—a halfbreed. But what if she were lythenian? I’ll have to return again….”

  – personal letter from D’thlu Charei 874 B.M.

  “Hey, watch it!” a vylorian woman shouts as I pass by, shoving into my shoulder. My wolf itches to sink its teeth into the woman. Just one bite, it says.

  Kezia will swat us on the nose, I tell it.

  I’ve been walking in circles for hours—the sun set beyond the coastal horizon an hour before. The streets are lit up by green flamed lanterns and braziers on every corner. I’m mesmerized and entranced at the sounds, the smells, and the complexities of everything. I pass by a vendor cart with savory smoke stemming from seared meats. I reach into the cart and swipe a skewer full of meat from a scorching hot pan. My tongue burns as I gnaw on the meat, and the flavors hit me bluntly. Caravan food is fulfilling. The ingredients are mostly fruit and vegetables with grain and dried meats, but this is the first time tasting freshly cooked meat. The juiciness and texture inspire pools of saliva in my mouth. I swallow abrasively with little chewing.

  “Hey, you gotta pay for that,” the vendor behind the cart yells. I bare my teeth and snarl viciously until the vendor retracts and just scowls as I walk away. I’m tempted to grab more skewers, but I don’t like the looks the pedestrians are giving me as they whisper and point. So, I continue to walk another lap around the colosseum library.

  Earlier, I searched for Duck to ask if he’d show me how to ride one of the caravan horses. Duck’s job around the caravan is the care and upkeep of all the animals, including the horses and rhinoxen. In the weeks I’ve traveled with Kezia, I’ve come to love the people in the caravan. Albeit they tend to keep their distance from me. Kezia says it’s because my personality is prickly. I don’t know what that means, but apparently, people don’t like prickly. Well, except for Duck. Duck seems to like prickly just fine.

  When I was tucked into the cubby in Kezia’s wagon, Duck stayed nearby and he talked and talked. I thought it was because he was trying to keep me distracted. It took hours for the guards to inspect each towed wagon and cart in the caravan. I felt as though my heart was going to crawl through my throat as the guards rifled through Kezia’s stuff. Duck gabbed the entire time, but eventually, the guards left. Duck waited until we were miles outside of the city before he let me out. Since we left the city border inspection, Duck still had yet to stop talking. Ever. I don’t mind it, though. I don’t have much to say, given my lack of worldly experience or knowledge. So, I just listen.

  So, when I searched for him earlier, I found him following two boys I’ve seen around the caravan. Kezia mentioned them both during our first night outside Oriand. She said they joined the caravan the same night she found me. She didn’t offer anything more than that and I didn’t ask.

  When I saw Duck following them, I was slightly curious but mostly jealous. My wolf growled, mine, in my head as they walked away. Duck is my friend. He’s my only friend, besides Kezia.

  I followed them through the city, trying to keep my distance so they wouldn’t see me. My wolf beamed within me, thinking it a game of stalking prey. I’d be embarrassed if they found me stalking them.

  The city is loud and obnoxious, and the smells are overwhelming. My gums itch for my fangs to drop and my skin crawls. My body begs to shift, twisting bone and tearing flesh. It takes all of my concentration to resist my wolf. Let me chase, it says.

  The boys led Duck to the colossal library that I now circle. I contemplated following them inside, but then I realized I didn’t know how to read, so I wouldn’t have a reason to be inside a library.

  I sit outside on the paved walkway when a small girl with gigantic eyes behind glass lenses scurries out the door with books in hand. She trips over my outstretched legs, books flying across the pavement. I stare, unmoved, as I watch her collect the books on the ground. I think about saying sorry, but then I choose not to. Even an apology could lead a stranger to ask questions and that’s the last thing I want.

  “Hmm, cute horns. Very shiny,” the mousy girl says. I’m too stunned to respond as the tiny girl runs tiny fingers against the horns on my head. I thought I’d feel the urge to bite her delicate fingers off, but I’m still too stunned to react. Even my wolf rumbles happily in my mind at the contact.

  “Umm…thanks?” I say. The girl smiles and then skips down the paved road with her books hoisted under her arm.

  After a few more hours pass, I become too anxious to sit still. So, here I am, meandering around the library.

  A series of wailing tones pierce the nightlife of the city. The citizens freeze and scan their surroundings. I immediately sit up, head tilted to lean into the noise in the distance. Then come shouts and hollering in the distance. My ears twitch at the harsh howls flooding the city as humans and fae alike begin to run in panic. The sky is bright with a gibbous moon and stars freckle the twilight as dusk fades into night. The screams grow louder as everyone starts to dodge into buildings seeking shelter. I’m outside the front entrance of the library when the doors burst open. An old woman in a robe and shawl scurries out to peer at the sky, terrified. I’m not sure why until I see it. The star-filled sky starts to darken like a blanket of ebony drapes across the city. A swarm of beastly bat-like monsters voraciously beating their raven wings. Their faces are smashed with large flaring nostrils. Horns protrude from their skull just above the snout. They have long and slender tails—pikes trail along their spine to the tip of their tails. Hoisted on each flying beast are leather saddles and riders adorned in black chainmail.

  I recall the story king Veryn told the night I fle
d Obsidian Reach. The story about wyverns.

  My heart sinks into my gut as my wolf howls in reply to the wyverns filling the sky. Let us hunt, it says, but I ignore it. The librarian next to me gasps and then runs into the night, fleeing from the library. I crouch low to the ground as if making myself smaller means I won’t be seen. I consider running into the library to hide, but then I remember Duck and those boys are still inside. I can run back to the caravan and crawl into the hidden cubby of Kezia’s wagon.

  No, that won’t work, I realize because it dawns on me that Veryn probably knows I escaped Oriand through the caravan. If he finds me hiding with them, then he’ll slaughter them all. Maybe if he searches the city and doesn’t find me, he’ll show mercy. The best option is to flee into the night as if I were never here.

  I take off running, my feet pelting the solid ground, my wolf begging to take over. I can run faster, it howls. The wyverns above fly low enough that I can feel the rush of wind beneath their wings. My short black-dyed hair whips across my face. I dodge and shove into the scurrying pedestrians as I sprint down streets and alleys, running in the opposite direction of the caravan.

  Then I hear the worst sound I’ve ever heard, only I’ve heard it before. Weeks ago, on the curtain wall of Obsidian Reach. The mangled howl of a wounded animal. The crying howl of my mother.

  I stop, unable to breathe. I wait to hear it again, praying that it was a farce of the mind, invoked by the sheer panic. I pray that what I heard was just the death cry of a wyvern. I almost settle into relief, but then I hear it again. This time there’s no mistaking it. I recognize her howl, and it twists and churns my insides. Let me out, my wolf screams and my gums itch, my teeth ache, and my skin hums with static. I give in to my wolf, allowing my bones beg to break, bend, and succumb. My mother told me to run at Obsidian Reach. She’d want me to run again, I tell myself. Pack, mother, love, my wolf howls and I howl in return. My skin rips apart, fur taking its place as my claws drag against the pavement.